


I'll sink in my skin and my bones

by mojohwrites



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: -squints- technically not canon compliant, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Time Skips, dintrospection, no beta we die like stormtroopers, the ocean is a metaphor for something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojohwrites/pseuds/mojohwrites
Summary: He dreams about the ocean, knowing something is out there, waiting for him.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	I'll sink in my skin and my bones

_“All that I have is a river.  
The river is always my home.  
Lord, take me away, for I just cannot stay,  
or I'll sink in my skin and my bones” _

≈

He dreamed of the ocean again.

It was a familiar dream, one that came to him often enough that he recognized the biting cold of the water surrounding him. He kicked with his feet and swept his arms wide as he turned to orient himself. He could taste the bitter saltwater on his tongue beneath his helmet, his limbs quickly growing cold despite the effort to keep himself afloat.

He didn’t always start in the water — sometimes he would find himself standing on the shore, the delicate white fingers of the foamy surf constantly reaching towards him hungrily before retreating backwards with each lapping wave. The sand beneath his boots was always rocky and dark; a black coastline that stretched beyond the edges of his vision in either direction. But his goal wasn’t ever on shore. 

Something called to him; something that was out there, on the water.

Finally spotting the shore in the distance, he carefully turned away from it, keeping it at his back as he started swimming — as he always eventually did in the dream — towards whatever was out there. Perhaps he would reach it this time.

He awoke with the echo of waves in his ears and an emptiness in his heart.

≈

The beskar was a heavy weight.

He’d expected it to be different from the durasteel and plastoid set he had grown accustomed to. Unpainted, the beskar’gam* was bright and reflective, sometimes making a soft, distinct ring when the metal touched other pieces. The steel was deceptively light — but still provided a reassuring heaviness, a promise that it would protect his body from nearly anything that could threaten him as he walked the Way.

But he found additional weight to the armor that wasn’t physical. 

He felt it in the heavy stares of both Tribe and outsider alike, watching as he passed by. He could see jealousy in some glances; fear in others. The stares itched in a way he’d eventually learned to be accustomed to after so many years as a beroya*. That weight he could deal with.

He hadn’t anticipated the weight of cost.

≈

He was on the beach once more, though when he looked down he could see bright beskar. It reflected the roiling waves before him as he stood on shore. 

The water swelled around his feet, softly gripping at his ankles as it pulled away again enticingly. He felt something else pull at him — for a moment he thought he could hear something over the rhythmic crashing of waves.

He began wading into the surf, using his arms and legs to push himself forward when his feet no longer found purchase. The current swelled and flowed around him, each wave trying to push him back towards the beach. His clothing became waterlogged but he continued swimming despite the chill seeping into his limbs.

After a particularly large wave he finally heard the noise again.

A soft, mournful coo. 

≈

It was done, the task completed. He had delivered the asset and received his payment — the Guild’s code dictated that he now forget about the entire thing. Usually he could.

But he sighed deeply and thought again about the asset — the _Child_.

It was strange and small, unlike anything he’d encountered. A seemingly helpless creature who had saved him from a raging mudhorn with an outstretched hand — as if it somehow controlled the very fabric of the universe. Though its chain code claimed the thing was fifty years old, those dark eyes still contained childlike innocence — and aching trust. 

This child hadn’t seen him as an enemy, even as he handed it over to the Imps. For a pile of beskar. 

“Enjoy your rewards.” Greef had advised.

He began the takeoff sequence, activating systems with practiced familiarity as his mind continued to wander back to the child. It had watched him as they ferried it out of the room, those dark eyes almost questioning, disbelieving in their stare. What would it say, if it could speak? Shaking the guilty thought away, he reached for the throttle but paused when he realized the handle was missing. 

Picking the ball up from where it lay, he slowly replaced it, turning it with gloved fingers that stilled when he finished. They rested on the round, bright surface; indecisive.

His mouth tasted like salt water.

≈

It was less of a dream and more of a memory, this time.

He was on that dark shore, though now he was surrounded by vode*, listening to the instruction of their al’verde*. Most of them were older and stronger than him, and had lived this life for longer. He was newest to the Creed, the weight of the helmet unfamiliar and stifling.

Today they would learn how to swim.

≈

He was used to the deep, metallic clangs and periodic, ship-wide vibrations of space travel, but apparently the kid had forgotten, or had never been comfortable with them in the first place. He would squirm occasionally and huff to himself, but didn’t seem to be settling down.

He watched the child’s makeshift hammock swing lightly from the movements, frowning beneath his helmet. Maybe he should find a crib like the one on Sorgan — the kid seemed to like it. He did a quick tally in his head, trying to figure out how many credits they would have left after fuel and food for themselves. It wasn’t a high number and he sighed deeply. He didn’t know if he was ready to return to hunting with the kid in toe.

At the sound, a pair of large ears and wide eyes peeked over the edge of the hammock at him, followed by a soft coo. He felt his chest tighten.

“Can’t sleep?” he rasped, anticipating what would happen next.

The child reached out, small hand opening and closing around empty air, his eyes somehow even bigger in the near-dark of simulated night. It was followed by a small whine and the man sighed again. He used to be more firm.

Instead he shifted position with a grumble and plucked the child from the hammock before laying back down. In return the kid babbled happily and curled up next to him — a still unfamiliar warmth at his side. For a moment all the air left his lungs. The first night this happened he’d been so nervous that he would somehow crush the little body beside him.

“You and your boy could have a good life.” Omera had promised.

He took a deep, steadying breath and the tight feeling loosened. He closed his eyes and thought about what a good life might look like.

≈

His arms and legs burned with the strain, but he knew he was close — closer than he’d ever been.

Sighting a large wave breaking in front of him, he quickly dove beneath it, almost gasping in surprise at the water's icy press. When he broke the surface his heavy, labored breathing was loud inside the helmet and he fogged up the visor. The rest of the armor now felt heavy, too; it sapped his strength as exhaustion began sinking into his bones.

He had a brief thought to remove some of the weight that was slowing him down, though felt sickened by the idea. What would he become without his beskar’gam? But then, in the distance, he heard that worried cry again. He knew what it was now and thought became action.

Vambraces, gloves, cuisses, pauldron, and chestpiece all slowly disappeared into the dark below as he removed them before another wave came. He was blessedly lighter now, though the buy’ce* and right pauldron remained — he touched the signet and resumed swimming.

≈

He was _close_ , achingly so.

Still he kept swimming, using his whole body to push forward and crest each wave. Even without the armor his limbs burned. Between strained breaths he listened for any more signs — and even stopped when he thought he’d heard something. But in this momentary lapse he was caught off-guard by another forceful wave.

The crashing swell pushed him downwards, further into the deep than ever before. Straining upwards, he tried not to panic as his mind fixated on the possibility of drowning before he would even reach his goal. But then, even beneath the cold water, he heard that cry again — one that was beseeching and utterly heartbroken in its loneliness. 

He _knew_ that sound; his own heart has sung that song for years. 

But that was before the child, the _foundling_.

“The foundlings are the future.” The Armorer had taught.

Instead of swimming to the surface, he stilled and time seemingly slowed down. He was suspended in the water, akin to floating in antigrav, as the cold seawater pressed in on all sides.

His hands reached up to the sides of his head and carefully removed his helmet, turning it around so the impassive visor faced him. He had worn it so faithfully for so long.

But if it meant saving the child, then it was worth it.

He gently touched the beskar to his forehead and then let the helmet slip through his fingers. It silently sunk into the darkness below. 

As it disappeared everything came rushing back. His lungs suddenly began to burn — he quickly rose to the surface and gulped at the salt-laden air, the sting of it sharp on his bare face. It was brighter now, everything more intense. But he could see the child, a single small hand outstretched and reaching for him.

He thrust out an arm to reach back and as their hands met nothing had ever felt more _right_. He pulled the small, quaking figure to his chest and immediately breathed out a sigh of relief and release; the cold couldn’t touch him now. The child quickly relaxed in his father’s arms. 

“Hey kid,” he murmured softly and his son snuggled against him with a warm chirp. They both became quiet, breaths flowing together like waves. Eventually he realized that they weren’t in the water anymore, though he heard the surf around them and felt the gentle sway of its current.

He looked up to find they were in a boat made of a shining, familiar material. 

≈

They sat together in the cockpit, the words still ringing in his ears after being held back for so long.

The child — his _son,_ now — sat on the console across from him, the large, dark eyes almost level with his own. He’d been surprisingly attentive and focused, as if the kid was somehow aware of the importance of the phrase as it finally tumbled out. Or maybe it had something to do with his buir’s* lack of helmet as he had spoken the words to him.

In any case, the kid had listened. He felt another swell of emotion pass through him, a warm affection that made his chest tight and his eyes sting.

“Come here, ad’ika.”* he whispered softly.

The kid’s long green ears twitched upwards and he happily crawled into his outstretched arms. As he pulled his son close, a small hand gently touched his jaw, tiny claws softly scratching through the stubble.

He probably should have taken the time to make himself more presentable before speaking the _gai bal manda_*, but it didn’t matter now.

They’d become a clan of two long before those words or the signet; perhaps even before Sorgan or the mudhorn itself. As the kid burrowed close he closed his eyes and listened to the soft, murmured breathing in his ear.

It sounded like gentle waves — and home.

≈

_“Where the blue of the sea meets the sky,  
and the big yellow sun leads me home.  
I'm everywhere now; the Way is a vow  
to the wind of each breath by and by._

_The water sustains me without even trying,_  
_the water can't drown me, I'm done,_  
_with my dying…”_

The Water by Johnny Flynn [♫](https://youtu.be/a4QQ7HYYdWw)

**Author's Note:**

> *** Mando'a Translations ***  
> beskar’gam = armor [▲]  
> beroya = hunter [▲]  
> vode = siblings [▲]  
> al’verde = commander [▲]  
> buy’ce = helmet [▲]  
> buir = parent [▲]  
> ad’ika = little one [▲]  
> gai bal manda = adoption vow [▲]
> 
> \---
> 
> I've had this idea for awhile, but re-watching the series recently with some friends fanned the flame. It's a little more experimental, with the time skips and dream realm, so hopefully it makes sense... Do I know when it takes place? Do I know what the ocean represents??? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I dunno friend, I'm just here to tell a story.
> 
> Also, this is hopefully the first of more Mandalorian fics to come! (maybe even expect something for Mandomera Week 👀😍)


End file.
